


A Constellation of Memories

by Tish



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Flashbacks, Gen, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Canon, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25897009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tish/pseuds/Tish
Summary: Abandoned and alone, Jopson has only his memories of love and life from before to spur him on during his lonely journey into the void.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Thomas Jopson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18
Collections: The Terror Big Bang 2020





	1. Now, and Then

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [vikkicomics](https://vikkicomics.tumblr.com/) for the beautiful artwork which can be found[ here](https://64.media.tumblr.com/e7170e69243f430a9df805a2e8563c72/d9d615e911d8dce8-96/s540x810/94a44dbaa76208ea819d7bc2a86a406a3ae8a8c0.jpg).

Jopson stared at the fire, lost in his thoughts, trying not to let the terror in his mind creep into focus. Each time he'd closed his eyes to sleep, he thought he wouldn't wake again, and strange, horrifying dreams tormented him until he woke. Still, he'd open his eyes to the same stark, dull horror.

The grey shale crunched underfoot like bones. Even the sky was dull and grey, the sun offering little warmth.

Weak and delirious, the crewman had whispered under his breath, but Jopson couldn't understand what he was saying. All he could do was offer water and cool his brow with a damp cloth. He thought back to all the times he'd done this, to the good endings, and the bad, and the in-between.

“You're so good to me, I wonder if I deserve it,” in Jopson's reverie, the voice started as his mother's, then changed to Crozier's.

“Of course you are worth it, everyone is,” he'd said to himself.

“You deserve this tenderness when it's your time, Jopson,” Crozier had said. “I hope it won't come for many years.”

At least the daylight hours were growing a little longer now. But all that did was illuminate the stark nothingness that surrounded him. His mind see-sawed between his imminent lonely death amongst the bones of his crewmates, and wild fantasies of a rescue party, well-stocked with food for him to feast upon as they carried him back to a place where green lived on the land, not the sky. Sometimes, he let himself imagine a party of Netsilik wandering over the next rise, chattering as they rushed over to his frantic waving and cries of help.

Thinking he'd heard a bird cry, Jopson searched the air, the wind picking up a little and fanning the fire. He imagined himself as a bird, soaring high above the ground, going higher and losing detail, but gaining a greater field of view. He imagined seeing ice packs breaking up, freeing the dark green sea to lap against the bows of Terror and Erebus. Further up, he could see the passage as the ice retreated, and the tiny dashes of the two ships as they forged ahead and out into the open sea. Snow-capped peaks greeted the ships as they travelled south, hugging the coast until settlements hove into view. From his bird's-eye view he saw the celebrating crew, and their cries of joy came to him, high above them. Jopson's vision blurred as he wept, his heart simultaneously breaking with grief and swelling with joy.

Jopson opened his eyes to another day, a dream of his old age fading from his memory. Maybe it was a sign that he should trek on, that he'd find rescue, or at least another rag-tag gang of crewmen. Hope was creeping back into his heart as the sun crawled up the sky.

Trudging over the nearest rise, Jopson scanned the horizon. _Well at least it's a slightly different grey waste_ , he thought to himself as the constant pain settled down a little.

He turned around, half-expecting the creature to be suddenly upon him, but found only the same emptiness, even his track through the shale was invisible now. He lifted his eyes at a movement somewhere above him, nearly dropping to his knees as a tern swooped down lower and lower. By instinct, he dipped to grab a hunk of shale and threw it as he rose, nearly toppling over. Fearing it to be a hallucination, he stared as the rock flew through the air...

**||**

“Clear below!” Jopson called out, as the petrel fell to the deck just at Lyall's feet.  
  
Jopson was caught in his own satisfaction for a moment, before Sgt. Cunningham's yelp of joy brought him back. He handed over the gun to the botanist, adding a little sheepishly, “Mr. Lyall, my apologies, I didn't mean to steal your catch, sir. I had every intention of handing it back over after reloading for you.”  
  
“Don't apologise, that was an excellent shot,” Lyall said, eyes shining with delight.  
  
Cunningham leaned over to Crozier, whispering conspiratorially, “Captain, you want to trade your steward for Private Edwards here? I mean, he's got ten fat fingers and farts like a cannon, but he makes a decent cuppa tea.”  
  
“No bargain, Sergeant,” Crozier laughed as he watched Jopson demonstrate how to load the rifle properly to Lyall. “I wouldn't trade that man for the world.”

***

Minutes before, Mr. Lyall had been like a shy little boy in a sweet shop as he watched the net being hauled back onto the ship. A few smaller creatures dropped through the holes, landing on the deck with wet splooshing sounds as the net descended. The botanist couldn't decide what the look at first as he darted and danced around the haul.  
  
Crozier had watched some of the crewmen as they laughed good-naturedly at him, but he knew some of them were keen sketch artists, and this would bring them new subjects to hone their skills.  
  
Jopson hovered beside his captain, watching his eyes crinkle with delight. “He's keen as mustard, sir.”  
  
“Now, there is a man who loves what he does,” Crozier replied with genuine admiration. “That is a good feeling to have.”  
  
“We could catch a whale or a winkle, and he'd be equally as happy. I'm sure he'd love a penguin for a pet,” Jopson said, eyes shining with glee.  
  
“The enthusiasm of youth, never lose that, Jopson. He's not that far younger than you, after all,” Crozier pointed out.  
  
“I bring my all to making the tea pot gleam, sir.” Jopson had replied, poker-faced, but with a hint of a gleam in his eye.

As the delighted botanist examined his catch, Jopson turned to Crozier, warmth filling him as his captain gave him a nod of respect. This was going to be a good voyage, he thought.


	2. Beginnings

“Yes, it's well-presented, but what type of meat is it supposed to be? What animal produced this lumpen mass?” Crozier asked, incredulous, as he sawed through his dinner.  
  
“Mr. Diggle says it's chuck steak,” Jopson answered as he watched Crozier chew thoughtfully.  
  
“Hmm, chucked overboard from someone's else's ship, and retrieved by him, you mean,” Crozier muttered as he set down his fork and took up his glass.  
  
“My apologies, Captain. I could tell him to prepare something else,” Jopson said deferentially as he refilled the glass.  
  
“No, it'll do. The potatoes are surprisingly good. You have nothing to apologise for, Jopson. You can leave the bottle and come back later, take a moment for yourself,” Crozier's voice became softer as he turned back to his plate.  
  
“Very good, sir,” Jopson said softly as he retreated, closing the door after him.

Having admitted defeat to the meal, Crozier ventured atop, finding Jopson there watching the sky. Far behind them, the sky was grim and menacing, a storm still pounding the seas. Ahead lay calmer skies and waters, and the ship occasionally rode up on a larger wave. In the encroaching twilight, Crozier watched his crew climb the masts, adjusting the sails. An eerie purple-blue glow had started to form at the tops and edges of the woodwork and a deep, lush Welsh accent came from a sailor as he sang down, “St. David's candles are lit tonight!”  
  
“It's catching on the Mate's hat, sir,” Jopson breathed in wonder as they watched the glow flicker and spark at the man's head as he climbed.  
  
There was still enough light to see the glow reflected in Jopson's pale blue-green eyes as Crozier turned to look at his steward. “It's beautiful,” Crozier found himself whispering in the quiet that settled over the ship.

***

“The most important thing a man can do,” Jopson had said as he sewed another button, keeping an eye on the thread as it hissed and slipped through the hole, “is act with honour, and take care of his loved ones. You'll be the man of the house, Will. Once I'm on board, I'll be taking special care of the Captain, just like I try and help Ma with you here.”  
  
Through big, grey-green eyes, Will had solemnly watched, picking up another button as Jopson finished, sewing back over the thread and tying off a knot. Folded under the seam, the neat stitching was now invisible. The boy placed the next button on the jacket, ready to be sewn on. “I've watched you, Thomas. I know what to do.”  
  
“Good lad. Always watch, listen, and learn,” Jopson had said, eyes shining with love.

In his cabin, Jopson set the sewing needle back in the little kit and held up his captain's coat. The stitching would be invisible, yet strong and lasting.

***

Crozier ran a finger along his collar as he stood out on the balcony. The heat of the day was barely tempered by the overhanging foliage, and he yearned to shed his formal uniform.  
  
Ross wandered over and leaned over his shoulder, whispering, “Dear Lord, let me go join those men down there.”  
  
“You're in your element, James,” Crozier said, still watching the men frolic in the water.  
  
“Not on a day like this, Frank,” Ross said wearily. “If I can't be out on the ocean with a head full of magnetic readings, I'll settle for a cool swim. As it is, we have to suffer with the ladies and gentleman with only a cool drink to see us through.”  
  
Crozier listened, nodding, but his attention was still on the men, Jopson standing out with his pale skin among the tanned sailors and darker skinned Africans from the port city. At this distance, he wasn't sure if Jopson and the others were completely nude, or just wearing short undergarments soaked through. He gripped the glass tighter as Jopson turned around to wade to shallower water, then get dragged in deeper by a muscular AB. Their laughter echoed faintly to him, and every fibre in him wanted to run down and join them.

  
Dinner engagements fulfilled, the Captain and his Commander walked down to the docks under the bright starlight. After a warm handshake, Crozier parted ways with Ross and they boarded their ships.  
  
Coming down the steps, Crozier was already struggling to loosen his buttons when Jopson joined him. Crozier was about to greet him when he saw Jopson's face lit by a lamp. “Jopson, you've caught the sun!”  
  
Jopson winced, before smiling. “Good evening, sir. Actually, I think the sun caught me instead.”  
  
Crozier slid his cabin door shut before continuing. “I saw you and the others from the Governor's house. Is everything sunburnt?”  
  
Jopson's eyes widened. “You _saw_ us? I thought there was enough trees and things to hide us!” He began to stammer. “Sir, did any ladies see us?”  
  
Crozier patted his arm. “I didn't see any ladies eagerly gathered by the windows, pretending to be outraged. I think there was only a view from the balcony, and only Captain Ross and myself stepped out there.”  
  
Jopson fumbled as he brushed down the Captain's coat, before hanging it neatly. He laughed nervously before he said, “I'd hate to cause some diplomatic incident. Could you imagine how it would be reported back home?”  
  
“It'll be fine. I'm more worried that you should see the doctor about your roasted skin. You're not used to the sun, and I'm sure you'll be feeling that later,” Crozier pointed out.

“Well, I did serve in the West Indies, sir,” Jopson answered.

Crozier looked at him sternly. “Were you running up and down masts on deck?”

“Yes, I was. I mean, the heat was different, but it was just as sunny there. Do you really think it could be that bad, sir?” Jopson asked, confused.  
  
“I don't know, do you want to be able to sit down for the next week or not?” Crozier said, exasperated. “I should march you down to the sick bay so you can drop your drawers for the doctor.”  
  
“I'll see him right away, sir,” Jopson said, relenting. “Can I fetch you some tea first?”  
  
“No, that's fine, see the doctor.” Crozier stepped over to a cabinet, tapping the glass absent-mindedly.  
  
After Jopson left, Crozier stepped up to the main deck, checking that all was quiet. As he descended below, he turned forward instead of aft and entered the infirmary. Jopson was leaning over a table, stripped to his undershorts, flinching a little as the doctor examined his inflamed back.  
  
“Now you know how Icarus felt,” the doctor gently chided him, before pulling down Jopson's undershorts. “I'll have to give you a salve for that, and you need to take special care of the front,” the doctor added as he turned Jopson around, one finger still pulling at the underthings.  
  
Crozier clenched his jaw in sympathy as Jopson caught his gaze, gasping as the doctor placed a handful of cold salve on his prick. Withdrawing from the room with a small nod, Crozier returned to his cabin, thinking all the while of how Jopson would later apply the salve to his body, imagining Jopson looking deep into his eyes as he gasped at the sensation. He shut the door and leaned back against it, breathing heavily, eyes closed.

***

Over the next week, Jopson felt like a goose, slowly cooking, pulled from the oven to baste. The burn started to settle to a deep tan, and he felt grateful for the more relaxed dress code of shirtsleeves now they were out in the open ocean. He still suffered from the heat trapped below, but the cooler air of the evening refreshed him when when he went above. Men would sleep on deck, choosing spots that didn't get in the way of the on-duty crew.  
  
Flag messages were sent between the ships as the captains oversaw their experiments, and Crozier ordered a small course change now and again.  
  
He took a moment to join Jopson. “Are you feeling any better?”  
  
“Mostly better, sir,” Jopson replied, discreetly pulling his shirt away from his shoulder slightly. “That salve works wonders.”  
  
“Glad to hear it. That first night, I was thinking I'd have to pick you up, carry you to the doctor and lather you up myself,” Crozier said, distracted.  
  
Jopson felt himself stiffen, imagining his captain slathering the salve over his body, feeling a heavy heat creeping over him. He put that thought aside and managed to squeak out a laugh. “Surely I should be the one to take care of you, sir.”  
  
“I'm not the daft bugger who frolics naked in the blazing sun, Thomas,” Crozier said with affectionate scolding.  
  
Jopson went quiet, an image in his mind of Crozier trotting away along a beach, his buttocks toasting like two hot, buttered buns. He blinked, wondering where the hell that image had come from, and found himself smiling.  
  
By now, Crozier had lifted his spyglass and was reading another flag message, missing Jopson's reaction. Jopson found himself looking out to sea, hoping for a stray iceberg to sail ten thousand miles north so he could ice down his growing erection, grateful that the gunwale shielded him as he leaned against it. He darted a furtive, longing glance at his captain. This is going to be a very long voyage, he thought to himself wistfully.


	3. Unseen Things

“There are so many places waiting to be discovered, and not just physical ones, the ones that we can touch and see,” Crozier mused one morning at breakfast.  
  
Jopson tilted his head to look at the page Crozier had open, and read the caption on the photographic plate. “ _Steel shavings reveal the field lines emanating from a magnet_. That's ingenious, sir. We know something is there, we can't see it, but have to approach it sideways to understand.”  
  
“Just like our present problem, we know the south magnetic pole is out there, we just have to find it,” Crozier said.  
  
“Hence our meandering course, sir,” Jopson replied. “All these readings along the way help us pinpoint it, yes?”  
  
“Exactly, the more readings, the better. Then we can go directly down and see for ourselves,” Crozier said as he tapped the table.  
  
“Or not see, just infer from the readings from the dip compass,” Jopson slowly said, trying to follow the logic. As Crozier smiled, Jopson thought for a moment, then continued. “We can't see gravity or magnetism, just see how it affects objects. To me, that's like how we can't see love or friendship directly, just how its presence affects others.”  
  
Crozier paused mid-sip, his cup to his lips, and looked at Jopson in a new light. “I've never thought about it that way before, Thomas. That's a beautiful way to put it.”

***

The ships crept further south, and Crozier found himself giving Jopson lingering looks as his steward knelt before him, grimacing as he tugged at the Commander's boot. Jopson flashed a smile as the boot slipped down his calf, brushing one hand along the back of his leg as he removed it. The other boot was equally as recalcitrant, so Jopson leaned in a little closer, ready to pull harder. For a moment, Jopson's cheek brushed against Crozier's thigh, and Crozier had to suppress a gasp, faking a cough to distract himself.  
  
“Sir?” Jopson peered up at him as he pulled the boot away from Crozier's foot, a searching expression on his face as he waited for Crozier to complain.  
  
Crozier stammered for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts from his inner turmoil. “It seems I may need a larger pair of boots made up,” Crozier found himself saying, a little sheepishly.  
  
“Captain's boots are always big ones to step into, perhaps you should consider it a mark of your increased greatness,” Jopson replied diplomatically.  
  
Crozier regarded Jopson in silence for a moment, watching as Jopson examined the boots for any signs they needed repairing. As he made to rise, he caught his captain's eye.  
  
Jopson's voice was soft with concern. “Was there something else you needed, sir?”  
  
Crozier patted Jopson's shoulder, letting it linger there a little longer than necessary. “No, it's late. Turn in and rest well, Jopson. I shall hang up my own clothes.”

***

Crozier watched the steam curl up from the bowl of water as Jopson set out the shaving set. Razor on the towel, and the brush ready for the soapy lather, Crozier let himself relax as Jopson dabbed the brush onto his face. He found himself anticipating the occasional light touches of Jopson's fingers on his face and under his chin as the steward shaved him, He stole glances at Jopson as he worked, watching that long strand of hair fall down over his forehead again, wanting to brush it back for him. Now and again, their eyes would meet, and he'd catch the grey-blue before Jopson would look away, concentrating on not nicking his flesh with the blade. Crozier found himself thinking he'd seen green in Jopson's eyes, as well as pale blue, but the light in his cabin was always diffused by the light-wells above, the cabin windows never letting in direct sunlight. Maybe next time Jopson was on deck in the light of day, he'd have to have a better look, he thought to himself.  
  
Far too soon, Jopson put down the razor and softly wiped away the excess soap, patting Crozier's cheeks with the hand towel, still warm from the stove. Crozier cleared his throat and ran a hand around the back of his neck. “Perhaps you can give me a haircut, too. It's beginning to feel like a jungle back there.”  
  
“Certainly, sir,” Jopson replied, and Crozier thought there was a note of delight in his voice, and he saw Jopson smile as he got out the scissors from the toilette set.  
  
Crozier suppressed a gasp as Jopson began combing the hair at the back of neck, sliding a finger underneath a strand to measure the trim, then repeating it from ear to ear.  
  
“Forgive me if I take a while, but what with the rolling of the ship, I don't want to shiv you with the scissors,” Jopson said, his voice hesitant.  
  
Crozier felt that Jopson could take all day, his fingers lingering there, but he couldn't say that out loud, so he made a rumbling noise in his throat instead. “Of course, I wouldn't want to flog you for stabbing your Captain, would I?” He felt Jopson's delightful caresses suddenly stop, and hastily added, “Jopson, I could never flog you. You'd never do anything to deserve it.”

Jopson bit his lip as an image of himself, shirtless and tied to a roofbeam in front of Crozier, flooded his mind. He imagined Crozier slowly running a hand down his naked back, then over his arse to tear down his trousers and underclothes, Crozier's breathing, heavy and hot against his neck. He felt Crozier touch his arm, just barely making contact and he flinched.  
  
“Jopson?” Crozier had his hand on Jopson's elbow, and he looked worried. “Did you hear me? I could never flog you. I was joking, and I apologise. It was in poor taste.”

“My apologies, sir. I think I got a bit dizzy or something,” Jopson found himself saying, trying to stay coherent. “I'll be right as rain. I'll just finish this trim, then I'll fetch you breakfast.”  
  
“You look a little pale, have you had your breakfast yet?” Crozier said, turning in his seat to stare intently at his steward.  
  
“Yes, I had a little something before, sir,” Jopson said, glad he had chased away the vision enough so he could look at Crozier without his heart pounding so hard.  
  
“Well, if you feel you're coming down with a sickness, go to the infirmary. Otherwise, I won't need you until lunchtime, feel free take a few minutes to yourself before you take to your duties. As for me, I have logs to complete and tables upon tables of figures to drive me to oblivion,” Crozier said, his mind racing to feel Jopson's touch upon his skin again.


	4. New Perspectives

Crozier logged their position as Jopson placed the tray on the sideboard. “We've hit the Roaring Forties now, we'll be belting along like the devil's at our tail,” he said. “It'll be a job tacking around to drop off supplies for the whalers,” he pointed to a spot on the map in the middle of nowhere, “but after that, it's clear ahead.”  
  
“We're keeping some of the coffee for the wardroom, aren't we? The lieutenants can't get enough of the stuff, they get the jitters if the coffeepot's empty sometimes,” Jopson said, half laughing.  
  
“Yes, just make sure there's enough to last until Van Dieman's Land, I don't want my senior staff climbing the walls for lack of their refreshment,” Crozier said as he raised an eyebrow.

***

“It's so strange,” Jopson found himself saying. “The stars are upside down now. Well, the constellations are, I don't know about the stars themselves.”

“Being south of the equator gives one a new perspective, doesn't it?” Crozier mused as they watched the evening sky, the milky way shining bright across the inky blackness. “New constellations appear, some of the faithful old ones recede below the horizon.”

“There's no bright pole star to guide us down here, just the pointers. The sky seems off-kilter. You have to adapt to navigate here.” Jopson's voice now dropped to almost a whisper. “When I was a boy, my mother would sometimes stand outside and watch the sky. I'd see her reach up to touch the milky way, her fingers almost wrapping around it, like a ribbon made of stars. That was before we moved into London, of course. Step outside the door and you can only see a strip of sky between the terraces, and a few brighter stars.”

Crozier watched Jopson, remaining silent to let him have his memories in peace, instead placing a hand on his shoulder. Jopson flashed a brief smile and they stood together for a few precious minutes. The light breeze flicked against Jopson's open journal, clutched in his hands. A few constellations had already been faithfully transcribed onto the white pages, with many more new ones to be added.

***

Jopson stared at the cabin, casting his gaze around every corner of the room. Every nook of the cabinets was free of dust and polished, each door-pane and lamp-glass had been brought to a grime-free shine, and the windows were spotless. The broom and mop stood in the corner of the floor, job done and ready to be put away. With a deep exhale, Jopson sat on the padded bench and leaned back, head close to the window, listening to the driving rain. It had started pouring down shortly after Crozier's party had departed for the observation hut the other day, not letting up an inch ever since. 

Jopson shifted restlessly, going over his duties trying to think of what he was missing. The linens were all washed and drying, everything was clean and tidy, but still there was something wrong in Jopson's mind. He turned slightly, listening to the drumming of the rain beat out a steady rhythm against the ship in the silence, lost in his half-formed thoughts. 

"You look mesmerised, Jopson," came a voice in the doorway.

In a mild panic, Jopson lurched up and muttered an apology as Lt. McMurdo stood there, smiling as he looked around the great-cabin. "You've certainly been busy. I had an inkling I should paint your portrait, a rare study of a steward at rest."

Jopson relaxed a little at McMurdo's good humour and made his way to the mop and bucket. "It is a rare sight, indeed, sir. I dare say you won't catch me again."

"Oh, I'm sure I can. There's cabinets full of books in here, they're meant to be read. I'll wager there's something to pique your interest in one or two of them," McMurdo replied as he let Jopson pass by.

Jopson paused a moment and let his gaze linger on the books. "I think you're right, Lieutenant. Thank you."

As he stowed away the broom and mop, Jopson thought of which book to read first. The ship's library was well stocked, but Crozier's library offered a rich world he'd only glimpsed as he passed by a left-open book when he cleaned around the captain's things. He looked forward to this new journey.

***

The wind was like tendrils of ice as the fire caught, nestled inside the circle of rocks. Soon enough, the tea would boil and the soup would be ready, but for now it gave a hint of warmth for the men huddled around it. Huddling into the scarf wrapped around his face, Jopson imagined the chill wind as it started on its journey from the Antarctic, over icy cold seas and straight into the side of the rock-face they'd just ascended.  
  
Down below, Hobart Town sat nestled by the meandering Derwent, sheltered by forests of lush green. The branches of the eucalyptus trees, all mottled and bare, reached like grey fingers up towards the pale blue sky, searching for the warmth of the sun. The place names were all so genteel and ever so English, yet, despite the carefully tended gardens of the ruling class, the rest of the landscape told a different story.  
  
Jopson marvelled at the stark beauty of it all, shaking his head as he recalled the confusion of the settlers when Lyall had told them of his madcap plan to scale the mountain. Most of them were content enough to enjoy the view from down below, never dreaming of the rewards a few hours hiking could bring. He smiled to himself, admitting silently that he'd also thought the idea bizarre, yet here he was, sitting across from a man gleefully examining a rock in his hand, seemingly divining all wonders of creation from it.  
  
Jopson picked up his journal and pencil, his fingers now warmed enough to try and capture the scene. He knew he'd never be able to convey the true majesty before him, but words alone wouldn't do, so he carefully began sketching, letting himself relax more with every line stroke.  
  
After a little while, he reluctantly put the book down, the pencil rolling into the centre of the pages, then picked up the pot to pour the tea.  
  
Cunningham tore his gob-smacked gaze away from the view and took a mug. “Nice one, thanks. Hey, is that a rat?”  
  
Jopson looked over his shoulder at a small, black-furred creature scratching at a clump of ferns. “Doesn't look like a rat, it's got a hunched back.”  
  
“A hunchback rat, then,” Cunningham said sarcastically. “Bastards get everywhere, don't they?”  
  
Lyall looked up from the journal he'd borrowed. “It's called a bettong.” He doubtfully glanced down at the drawings on the page. “Or possibly a bandicoot?”  
  
“Are those real words, or did you just make 'em up?” Cunningham laughed.  
  
“He could have hit us with the Latin names, Sergeant,” Jopson whispered, a smile playing on his lips. “Then we'd be done.”

“It's a good thing one of her bigger cousins, the kangaroo didn't come thumping through. Six or seven feet tall, with muscles like a boxer. We'd all be done, then,” Lyall said playfully.

Cunningham patted his gun, grinning back. “Then we'd have kangaroo stew for dinner tonight.”  
  
Jopson's sudden laugh echoed out around them. “Can you picture Mr. Diggle's face if we brought back one for him to cook?”

***

The sky was overcast and gloomy as the evening drew in. Crozier watched the trees sway in the shifting wind, feeling the chill in the air. Snow had fallen on the mountain since he'd left the ship that morning, forecasting a cold night. He was grateful for the open fire in the galley as he descended below decks, pausing to stand by it with some crewmen coming off duty. They all greeted him and he nodded back.  
  
“That's a taste of what's to come, gentlemen. We'll be especially thankful of this fire in months to come,” Crozier let the warmth fill his tone as he spoke. “I expect Mr. Diggle to have a hearty meal ready for you soon.”  
  
With another nod to the men he took his leave and went back to his cabin, calling out as he went down the passageway, “Jopson?”  
  
A polite cough came from the man following behind. “Beg your pardon, sir. Mr. Jopson's not back yet. I can fetch you some tea, or anything else you require.”  
  
Crozier half-turned to the under-steward. “Oh? Just take my coat and see when dinner will be ready. Where's Jopson gone?”  
  
“He and the Sergeant accompanied the assistant surgeon on a hike up that mountain this morning, sir,” the steward said cautiously as he hung up Crozier's coat. “I believe you did give him leave since you were attending functions all day?”  
  
“Yes, I did. Galloping up a mountain isn't the first thing I expected him to do on his day off, though,” Crozier gave a short chuckle, before becoming serious again. “Still, they should be back by now. Were they well equipped?”  
  
“They had greatcoats, gloves, and scarves. Also, they took guns and a pot with supplies, sir. I don't expect they'll get into any difficulty,” the steward replied.  
  
Crozier checked his pocket watch, pushing his thumb along the chain thoughtfully. “Go up and tell the Marine on watch duty to keep an eye out, and call down if they sight them coming back late, their tails between their legs. If they're stuck up there, well, I can't see that we could do anything until morning. We don't need men risking themselves clomping about mountain forests in the dead of night.”  
  
Crozier was restless as he sat in the wardroom with his officers, picking at his food, looking up at every footstep he heard. Eventually, he forced himself to settle and finished his meal, not listening to the conversation around him. Afterwards, he retired to his cabin and brooded, glass in hand as he watched the flames in the opened stove.  
  
A voice called down, and the under-steward went up, then quickly came back down. He started to approach, stopping when Crozier got up to join him.  
  
“Sir, it's just two AB's coming back late,” the steward said, meekly.  
  
Crozier sighed. “Find the nearest lieutenant and ask him to assign them extra duties as the officer sees fit.”  
  
He watched the steward retreat, then frowned at the crewmen who came down the ladder.  
  
“Sorry, sir. Won't happen again,” one of them said, gripping his hat in his hands.  
  
“You've seen your last public house for the next six months, gentlemen,” Crozier said quietly. “I hope you enjoyed your night, and I pray that no news of drunken exploits will follow you back to blacken your names and the reputation of this expedition.”  
  
“No, sir! We just forgot the time, is all,” the other crewman exclaimed.  
  
“Very well, you'll report to the lieutenant and we'll be done with the matter,” Crozier said quietly, but firmly.  
  
Crozier waited for them to leave, then turned to his cabin, paused, then climbed back up on deck. A Marine corporal was stood watching the approach to the dock, turning his head as Crozier approached him.  
  
“Someone coming, sir. See the lantern?”  
  
Crozier watched as the light travelled down the slight hill, the sound of footsteps softly coming to him as it neared. His heart started pounding as he recognised Jopson walking under a street lamp, keeping a fast pace with his two companions. Relief washed over Crozier as he realised that all were in good shape, seemingly none the worse for their adventure.  
  
Before long, all three were walking up the gangplank, looking suitably abashed. Crozier raised an eyebrow at the six-foot frond Mr. Lyall was carrying, suppressing a smile as he passed it over to Jopson when they came to a halt before their Captain. The sergeant gave his corporal a challenging glance as he passed by, the corporal the very model of a good marine as he saluted, deadpan.  
  
Lyall clasped his hands as he spoke. “I take full responsibility for this situation, sir. I underestimated the terrain we faced, and we left the summit too late to avoid the worsening weather.”  
  
“All of you come down to my cabin and we shall discuss the repercussions, I don't want you freezing yourself while you plead your case,” Crozier said patiently as he gestured for them to lead the way.  
  
Still in his overcoat, Jopson made to fetch the tea set from the pantry, but Crozier waved him off, pointing to his cabin. “Get over to that stove and stay there, there's a perfectly capable under-steward for bringing the tea.”  
  
Jopson gave him a lingering glance before he hurried off, awkwardly throwing the frond into his cabin as he passed it. Crozier nodded to the under-steward before he joined the three men warming themselves by the stove, their guns set down by the door.  
  
Jopson felt a little disoriented as the under-steward poured the tea for them, and he watched, somehow nervous that the man wouldn't do his job properly. He didn't notice Crozier watching him intently, and his eyes widened as Crozier added a measure of whiskey to their cups. Jopson gingerly picked up the fine china cup and waited for Lyall to take a sip first. Cunningham shrugged slightly and took a swig, all the while watched by Crozier, silent and inscrutable.  
  
Cunningham and Jopson were silent as Crozier and Lyall conversed, Jopson searching Crozier's face moment by moment, dreading a harsh punishment, but also feeling a knot grow in his stomach at any sign he'd lost his captain's trust and respect.  
  
Eventually, Crozier set down his cup and spoke again, “Sgt. Cunningham, I'm considering that you lose your grog ration for a month. That depends upon finding a suitable punishment for your two companions, though, since neither man is a regular drinker, and you were just along for the ride. I suppose the best punishment for foolhardiness is the shame of remembering that one acted like a fool. Perhaps you three should re-enact your misadventures for the benefit and entertainment of the crew?”  
  
Cunningham choked back a laugh, hiding it in a cough, so Crozier leaned forward. “So, there was comedy in this near tragedy, Sergeant?”  
  
“Sorry, sir. There was that rat creature that Mr. Lyall swore up and down was a proper animal,” Cunningham said, doing his best to remain serious.  
  
“Perhaps one of you could dress up as this rat creature when you relate your tale to the crew?” Crozier had a twinkle in his eye as he glanced at Jopson.  
  
“Mr. Lyall and I sketched the animal in great detail, sir. The sergeant offered to shoot it so he could bring back a specimen, but the shot would practically have destroyed the little thing,” Jopson offered, glad that the creature had made good its escape.  
  
“Very well, we shall call it a night. Except you, Jopson. You can claim your job back and clear the tea things,” Crozier moved his cup to the centre of the table. “Goodnight, gentlemen.”  
  
The Marine and the botanist said their goodnights and left, Lyall ducking into Jopson's cabin to retrieve his fern as he went.  
  
Jopson placed the cups on the tray and paused at the table. His voice was soft and hesitant, “I truly am sorry for what happened, sir.”  
  
“Thomas, you could have fallen off a rockface, or been attacked by escaped convicts, and nobody knew what route you took,” Crozier's voice was urgent, and he felt his heart thudding again. He reached out to grasp Jopson's arm. “I don't want to lose you, any of you. I'm just glad you're safe.”  
  
They stood together in silence until Crozier finally let his hand slide away. Jopson could feel tears welling up and he turned away, rearranging the cups. He inhaled deeply, calming himself and put on his best steward's voice. “Is there anything else I could do for you for now, sir?”  
  
“No, I shall call when I'm ready to retire for the night. You can show me what you drew,” Crozier's voice was the kindest Jopson had heard in months. “Thank you, Jopson.”  
  
“Thank you, sir,” Jopson replied with a tender smile. He paused at the doorway as Crozier opened a log book to study, then he was gone.

***

The gentle repeated motions lulled Crozier into a deeply relaxed state. The comb made a soft hissing sound as Jopson ran it through his hair, then there was a quiet snip as he cut the end. Crozier felt the back of Jopson's fingers linger at the back of his head as he finished the haircut.

He reached up a hand to caress Jopson's arm and breathed a single word, “Thomas,” just as Jopson leaned down and kissed him, simply and gently. Crozier pulled him in, desperate and confused by his own desire. He ran his fingers through the length of Jopson's hair and kept his hand there, making it clear that this was what he wanted.

Jopson had been surprised by his own audacity, almost sure that Crozier would push him away, bellowing for a noose, but somehow knowing Crozier shared his feelings. He kissed Crozier, and Crozier kissed back, passionate and deep, as though the two of them were the only beings on Earth.

Crozier dared to lift his other hand, feeling along Jopson's thigh. The surprised moan he got in return made him push harder against Jopson's crotch, the other hand still holding his head.

“Yes,” Jopson moaned against Crozier's mouth, his own hand moving to do the same for his captain. He knew it was still early in the morning, but tried to keep an ear open for any approaching footsteps. He both feared and thrilled at the prospect of a sudden knock upon the great-cabin's door, the fear of discovery driving his arousal in tandem with Crozier's firm strokes of his prick.

Hampered by Crozier's kiss, he struggled to speak clearly, “Sir, I – I'm ready to -,” Jopson gasped for air, then came against Crozier's long night-shirt. “S-sorry.”

Crozier stopped his kisses long enough to give him a chuckle. “Don't be, it needs a wash.”

Jopson grinned. “Don't remind me. There's a pile of laundry and a function to finish organising today.” Then Jopson knelt down before Crozier. "Oh, and another thing to finish.”

Crozier watched entranced as Jopson took his prick into his mouth and worked his lips around it, rubbing up along the shaft. His prick started to sag, despite Jopson's concerted efforts and he spurted out his spend on Jopson's lips.

Jopson raised his eyes to Crozier's as he gave a final lick, adding a wipe with a damp cloth to finish off.

“Ah. I think it's my turn to say sorry,” Crozier muttered apologetically.

“Perfectly fine. Not every man goes off like a sperm whale,” Jopson replied cheerfully, a twinkle in his eye, as Crozier started to laugh.

“You'd better clean yourself up, Thomas,” Crozier said, still smiling. “You've my breakfast to fetch, and then a long day charting a course through genteel society.”

"Behind these closed doors, I'll do anything for you," Jopson paused, eyes seeking Crozier's as though waiting for permission for something else. At a slight nod from Crozier, Jopson continued, breathing out one word, " _Francis_."


	5. A Little Gift

Crozier watched Lady Jane made a bee-line to Jopson, firmly placing a small book in his hands as she intently instructed him on some matter. He couldn't hear what she was saying, but Jopson was listening and nodding as if his life depended upon it.  
  
Sensing he had lost his audience, Sir John paused in his monologue and followed Crozier's eyeline. “Good Lord, it seems my beloved has claimed another soul to her cookbook.”  
  
“I'm sure he and Mr. Diggle will do their best, given the Spartan conditions of our kitchen,” Crozier said as he watched Jopson's knuckles tighten from clutching the book.  
  
“He looks terrified that Aunt Jane is intending to cook and eat him,” Sophia said playfully as she sidled up to Crozier's side.  
  
“Sophia!” Sir John scolded. “We do not make light of such matters.”  
  
“I apologise, uncle,” Sophia said politely, starting to smile at Crozier as Sir John turned away for another slice of tea cake and the attentions of a clergyman's wife.  
  
Crozier found himself smiling back at Sophia as she gathered up her skirt. “Perhaps we should rescue your steward? Tell him there's a sewing emergency up on the topsail he needs to attend.”  
  
“If you'll divert your aunt's attention to other matters, I'll bravely accompany you in the rescue mission,” Crozier whispered to her as they went over.  
  
Jopson's look changed in an instant from politely terrified to earnest relief as Crozier and Sophia flanked them.  
  
“Aunty, this man has duties to attend to, please don't steal him away all day when there's a room full of ladies waiting for his services,” Sophia said gently, waving an arm around the cabin.  
  
Lady Jane clicked her tongue. “My dear young lady, there are other perfectly capable stewards here. Speaking with one for a few minutes will not cause a calamity. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to gift a copy of this recipe book to Captain's Ross's steward.”  
  
Crozier and Jopson bowed slightly as she left. Crozier lifted an eyebrow slightly, lowering his voice, “Jopson, you're a lucky man, Miss Cracroft intended to send you up a mast to make good your escape.”  
  
Jopson shot an alarmed glance at Sophia, but was as diplomatic as ever. “Lady Jane is a most remarkable woman, and has been extremely generous in sending us supplies. I shall study this recipe book most closely.”  
  
“She seems very impressed by you. I wonder if she'll ask uncle to get you moved into our household?” Sophia said innocently. “You'd look most becoming in a silk waistcoat and tails.  
  
“I would not part with this man in a thousand years, and you shouldn't tease him like that,” Crozier said sternly, seeing through Sophia's tone. “Now, let me take you over to enjoy the cakes, so Jopson can go do his job again.”  
  
Jopson half-bowed to her as Sophia took Crozier's proffered hand. He and Crozier exchanged a final glance before he escaped to check on the teapot he'd left brewing.

***

The white wispy clouds stood out bold against the slowly darkening sky. In them, tinges of orange and purple began to become visible as Jopson walked up the gangway with some supplies.  
  
“Mare's tails. Looks like we're in for a change of weather once we go,” Jopson said wistfully to _Terror_ 's Master as he balanced his sacks at the hatch, ready to go below.  
  
Cotter turned his weathered face from the sky for a moment. “Aye, we'll be in for some chop in a day or two. Shouldn't be too bad, lad.”  
  
“Anything's preferable to those storms we hit before we arrived,” Jopson said with a nervous laugh.  
  
“Now that's tempting fate,” Cotter replied ominously.

***

The cold snap brought chill winds on their last day in Hobart-town. Final supplies had been loaded aboard, and a sack of mail brought cheers. Crozier settled in his cabin with coffee and letters, among them a large paper-wrapped parcel.

When Jopson came in again to clear away the cup and saucer, Crozier put a smaller parcel on the tray. There was a playful tone in his voice. “This one is addressed to you. Miss Cracroft sends her kind regards.”

“For me, sir? Another recipe book?” Jopson said in astonishment as he picked it up. “Oh, it's something soft.”

“Well open it, man,” Crozier said with a chuckle as Jopson continued to hold it suspiciously.

Jopson made quick work of the string and pulled out a white waistcoat, silken to the touch. Tracing a thumb along the lapel, he struggled to speak. “It's beautiful. Are you sure it's for me? I hope it fits.”

Crozier nodded firmly. “Of course it's for you. She has a keen eye, so try it on.”

Jopson took off his own regulation jacket and waistcoat and slipped the white one on. Crozier smiled broadly as Jopson buttoned it up, half-turning to admire the fit of it. “It suits you, Thomas.”

“I should send her a thank-you letter,” Jopson said as he took it off and carefully folded it over the chair.

“Use my desk and paper, off you go,” Crozier said.

In shirtsleeves, Jopson sat down and carefully wrote a brief letter, pausing every few words. Crozier watched him as he concentrated, careful to keep the ink from smudging. He idly imagined Jopson as a poet, writing odes to the ocean and his true love, and found himself smiling softly.

***

“I dreamt I was watching the sky, on a night just like this,” Jopson said quietly as he kept his gaze upwards to the stars. By now they'd reached the first ice fields, as the nights started to grow shorter, the sky aglow with soft pinks, purple and green of the aurorae shining high above them. “But I was watching the sky from deep down a well, except the sides were a tower of water, shimmering and reflecting the stars. I watching for so long that the sun rose and slid across the rim of water, barely cresting the top, so that I could still see stars on the opposite curve of the well.” As he spoke, Jopson forgot he was on the ship with the captain, and had to shake himself from his dream as a watch bell cut into his thoughts.

Crozier placed a hand on his shoulder, eyes shining with pride. “You're an apt pupil, Thomas. You've been studying the stars and filling in your journal faithfully. It's no wonder they're invading your dreams.”

Jopson drew in a deep breath. “Well, there's time for dreams later. That bell's going to start off again soon enough.”


	6. Sparkling in the Light

The white line on the horizon was stark and bright, and Crozier frowned as he peered at it through the telescope. “To be so brilliant and defined at even this distance, I scarcely can imagine the size it will show itself to be,” he whispered to himself, awe-struck.  
  
Looking through his own scope, the ice master growled out a curse, his voice low as he spoke. “That bugger's going to be huge, sir. A wall of ice. One for the record books, I'd say.”  
  
“Let us hope that there's a gate in that wall, then.” Crozier tried to be optimistic as he collapsed the scope, patting it against his palm as he thought of what lay ahead of them.  
  
As the days slid by, the white line solidified, growing ever brighter. As Crozier returned to his cabin one day, Jopson hopped down from a footstool, cloth in hand and pushed the stool over to the next illuminator set in the ceiling. He set to cleaning the glass and the room brightened slightly, sunlight streaming down it as someone above swabbed the deck.  
  
“Sir, if we can cut some of that ice from that wall, and place it, just so,” Jopson held a hand under the porthole to demonstrate, “I'm sure this cabin would shine just as bright as outside.”

“Ah, but first we have to get up to it, we're still a long ways out yet. There's also the matter of what happens to the ice when we reach warmer climates. Still, I eagerly await your experiments in optics, Jopson.” Crozier smiled warmly as Jopson started to leave with the stool, pausing at the door.  
  
Jopson looked down for a moment, blushing slightly. “It's just a flight of fancy, I can't make any great claims to science. Would you like lunch now, sir?”

Crozier nodded as he sat at his table. “Flights of fancy can still lead to great things. Science isn't just tables of figures.” He tapped his log book. “Yes, lunch. I have a long list of readings to collate, as well as those tables of figures, so bring plenty of coffee, too.”  
  
As Jopson left, Crozier looked up thoughtfully at the light-wells, musing with delight at the ingenious design of the prisms and wondering if Jopson's idea could actually work.

***

What had once been a bright white line on the horizon now loomed over them as a solid expanse of ice, towering above their masts in a seemingly impenetrable wall. As they sailed along it, men would take out their journals and sketch what they saw, some just making perfunctory lines, others detailing the niches and crevices along it.  
  
Finally spotting an opening which proved to be an archway in the wall, they saw their chance and prepared to enter, hoping to find clear sailing ahead. As the clouds parted, the sun gifted them with a dazzling sight as a multitude of rainbow points danced and sparkled from the ice wall.  
  
Silence descended on the water as every man on deck watched in reverent awe as they sailed under the archway. Torn between staring at the spectacle and wanting to see the effect on his men, Crozier lifted his eyes to see a crewman, high in the crow's nest, raise his hand to try and touch the ice, still looming high overhead. He watched other men watch in wonder, then let his gaze settle upon his steward.  
  
Jopson stood clutching a rope, tears welling in his eyes. Crozier saw something else in his expression, not just a reaction to the wonder of nature, but something deeper and more personal, like a lost memory come flooding back. As he watched a tear slide down Jopson's cheek, Crozier felt it best not to intrude and let him be.  
  
That evening, the watercolours flowed over rough paper, a scale version of the ice arch in each journal, an imperfect, yet heartfelt memento of the day. Lingering in the galley before joining Ross for dinner on Erebus, Crozier walked among the men, stopping at each table to see every man's work. He recognised individual crewmen in other's sketches, saw the care in rendering their faces, and the details of the shimmering archway. As he shifted his gaze from paper to face, he shared in the pride and joy each man felt as they created. Give a man the opportunity and he'll shine, Crozier said to himself as he watched this group work, all men who'd come from modest backgrounds with only the basics of a formal education.  
  
Crozier last came over to a Marine who'd simply and boldly splashed colour in an abstract pattern on his book, and opposite him sat Jopson deep in concentration, slowly adding colour here and there to his page. Where the others had painted the ice and their fellow crewmates, Jopson had a figure of a woman alone high above the sea. With her grey-black hair streaming out around her to hide her face, she had one hand raised to brush the scintillating points of colour and light, fingers gently curling inside the rainbows.  
  
Jopson suddenly looked up, and Crozier saw that same haunted look on his face from earlier. Jopson shifted in his seat, disturbed and distracted, one hand almost smudging the paint as he involuntarily made to cover up his work. Crozier placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, giving him a small smile. “That's a beautiful piece, Thomas.”  
  
Jopson looked back at him, blinking away a hint of wetness in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said simply, before turning back to the piece.  
  
Crozier took that as his cue to leave, wondering about the significance of the woman. He didn't see Jopson look up from the table, his face full of yearning at his retreating form.


	7. A New Friend

Jopson slid open his cabin door, then quickly slid it back in alarm, placing a hand flat against it before he cautiously edged it open a fraction. There was no mistaking what he'd seen, and he blinked at it as he slowly slid it open again.  
  
“Jopson, you appear to have a penguin in your cabin,” Crozier said, his voice rich with amusement as he came to stand behind him.  
  
“It certainly looks that way,” Jopson replied, incredulous. “It's not mine,” he hastily added.  
  
“Hmm, a stowaway, then,” Crozier said seriously.  
  
“Mr. Lyall is running out of storage space. He asked if there was anywhere else he could use, so I offered him the use of one of my drawers,” Jopson said as he knelt down to slide it out. It proved to be full of glass-topped cases of carefully tagged specimens. Jopson mouthed out the prospective Latin labels, then rose to inspect the penguin. “I think he may require even more space very soon.”  
  
Crozier laughed. “Maybe we can build a small boat and tow it back home with us, like a Noah's Ark of stuffed animals.”  
  
Jopson laughed, but he still stared uneasily at the penguin. “I'm not sure I'll be able to sleep with that thing staring at me all night. I'll feel like I'm being haunted.”  
  
“He'll be good company, I'm sure,” Crozier patted his shoulder. “I'm sure he won't snore and keep you awake.”

***

Good morning, Albert,” Jopson whispered sleepily as he lit his lamp. As always, the penguin remained silent, one eye watching Jopson as he climbed out of bed and slipped into his boots. With his coat hugged around him, he quietly dashed out to the stove to boil a jug of water. A cook's mate was busy fixing early breakfast, and the smell of baking bread enticed Jopson to linger in the warmth for a few minutes before he roused himself to go back and wash.  
  
Albert remained silent as Jopson washed and shaved, and Jopson wondered if his penguin soul was frolicking in some afterlife ocean. Albert chose not to converse on such matters, so Jopson gave him a consoling pat on a fin.  
  
His pocketwatch told him that he had enough free time to work on his New Year's costume, so he gathered his needle and thread and a cloth. Checking his progress, he judged he just needed a few more tucks and turns and he'd be mostly done.

***

“Mr. Cotter informs me there's a large berg ahead that should serve us nicely,” Crozier informed his officers at breakfast. “There's room for both ships to berth and set up the party to bring us into the new year.” Crozier lifted his cup and nodded at Jopson. “I look forward to seeing what costumes the men can come up with.”  
  
As Jopson poured the tea, he placed a finger against his lips. “Nobody wants to spoil the surprise, sir. A bit difficult, but the men are managing.”

***

“You shall be the star of the ball, sir,” Jopson said proudly, making final adjustments to Crozier's costume, his hands stroking the silky material. “Gold and red suit you so well. That costume box was a delight to open and rummage through.”  
  
“Ah, but you haven't seen Ross's costume, have you?” Crozier replied.  
  
Jopson ran a lint brush over Crozier's shoulder. “He can't beat your outfit, surely?”  
  
“I don't know exactly what he's chosen, but I know it will knock the wind out of everyone's sails.”  
  
“I hope not, sir,” Jopson said with a grin. “We'll be stuck here and there'll be hell to pay when the officers' coffee runs out.”  
  
Crozier chuckled softly. Then he turned to look at Jopson. “And what of your costume?”  
  
“I just need to add some finishing touches. You'll see,” came the impish reply.  
  
Crozier made a humming sound as Jopson slid a hand inside his jacket, savouring the smoothness of the inner lining.  
  
“Maybe you should wear this instead, Thomas,” Crozier whispered.  
  
“Possibly I could try it on later, see how it feels against bare skin?” Jopson moved in closer, letting his lips brush against Crozier's neck, his cheek sliding against the jacket.

Crozier felt something stir down below, and he growled softly. “God, you are going to be the death of me!”  
  
“I promise not to murder you until the New Year, sir,” Jopson said, reluctantly pulling away and untangling his hands from prowling Crozier's body.


	8. Belle of the Ball with Balls

Crozier stood waiting outside Ross's cabin, puzzling at the raucous laughter within. Moments before, the steward had opened the door and apologised that Crozier couldn't be admitted until the Captain was ready. Crozier strolled a few paces down the alley, watching the stream of seamen go up above, the sounds of the party starting to get louder as more crewmen arrived and the musicians got themselves organised.  
  
A lively fiddle tune started up outside, just as the steward opened the cabin door to usher Crozier inside. The steward was now dressed as a very charming prince in a silver, lilac and white embroidered longcoat and lilac britches, complete with white stockings under his black boots. Crozier paced back and entered, stopping in astonishment as Ross swirled around, his red and rusty brown dress flowing around him as he span.  
  
“You look splendid, James! The dress matches the beard, too,” Crozier exclaimed, taking in every detail of Ross's outfit, not spoiled in the least by his warm, woollen jumper underneath the dress which gave him a magnificent bosom.  
  
Ross flicked his fan at Crozier's chest. “And you, dear sir, look delightful. It would be an honour to accompany you to the ball.”  
  
Crozier smiled his most charming smile, bowed and held out his hand. “Madame, at your service.”  
  
Ross took his hand and they started to leave. “Be sure to come over and show me your costume again, Henry,” Ross said to his steward as they left. “Make sure Jopson comes over, too, Frank.”  
  
Crozier escorted Ross down the gangplank and onto the sparkling ice sheet. Large rugs and lit stoves provided warmth in the chill of the evening sun. On the opposite side, men from Terror trudged down their gangway, laughing and singing already. Tables laden with grog and food were set on each side, with a small platform for the musicians between them. Canvas sheets were stretched out between poles to provide a windbreak, and painted scenes decorated them. The middle canvas had the year, 1841 painted in large, red numbers, with an empty space below for the new year.  
  
At the head of the berg, two crewmen stood waiting with a canvas draped over something. They beckoned the captains over and unfurled the canvas, showing where the ice had been cut away. Fashioned into it were two ice chairs, sculpted with intricate designs, cushions upon them to keep out the chill. Crozier and Ross gave them pats on the back, saluting their craftsmanship. Ross's steward brought over some drinks and they toasted the men, getting a rousing cheer in return as everyone raised their mugs of grog.  
  
Officers and men stood around, drinking and chatting, their costumes ranged from basic hats, to complete costumes pulled from a dressing box, or made from scratch with linen and canvas. Here and there, an animal head poked above the crowd. Crozier and Ross watched their crews, pointing out individuals who'd gone to great efforts, laughing at the one or two who just came for the booze.  
  
Crozier kept an eye for what Jopson would be wearing, trying to spot him in the throng. After a long time, he was rewarded as Jopson emerged from behind a group of men. Dressed in a borrowed tailcoat and a piece of white linen hemmed round and stitched to his new, white waistcoat, Jopson waddled over, shaking the two golden-yellow tassels somehow attached to his hair above his eyes. He carried Albert the penguin in one arm, cradling him like a mother would carry a toddler.  
  
Ross yelped with laughter, his body rocking, struggling to keep his drink from spilling. “Thomas Jopson, you look ridiculous and wonderful!”  
  
“Thank you, Captain. You look exquisite,” Jopson bowed before him. “May I present Albert, a late penguin of this locale. Albert, this is her Ladyship Captain Ross, of Erebus.”  
  
Crozier guffawed at Ross, who was beaming with utter delight. “I think her Ladyship and one of these fine penguins should take to the floor for a dance.”  
  
“I would be honoured, sirs. I think Albert might be a little too short to partner the Captain, though,” Jopson replied.  
  
“Stick him up here, Jopson, he can converse with my friend in the red and gold silks” Ross patted a spot between the ice chairs. “Lead on, Mr. Jopson.”  
  
“I wouldn't want to steal Commander Crozier's place on your dance card,” Jopson said, eyes full of mischief.  
  
“Fine, you get the second dance. Go get yourself a drink or two, and I'll back for you to sweep off my feet later,” Ross said, sliding an arm into Crozier's.  
  
“Rank hath privilege,” whispered Crozier to Jopson as he escorted Ross onto the largest rug for their dance.  
  
The music became more intense and Jopson glanced over his shoulder as someone dressed as a giraffe approached. He beamed and asked, “good evening, would our favourite botanist care for a reel?”  
  
Music and drinks flowed as the day-bright "night" wore on. Men went from conversations to songs and back again, dancing and playing games to pass the hours. Men high up on masts started singing shanties, others below joined in. A football inevitably came out and a rollicking, drunken game started as the sun rose again after a brief dip to skirt below the horizon.  
  
In the middle of one man recounting his first time seeing the midnight sun in the seas off Norway, and now here in the south, a yell sprang up from the crowd. “It's time! It's almost time!”  
  
Crozier pulled out his pocket watch and held up a hand for silence. “We have a minute to go!”  
  
Ross stood on the ledge of ice behind the chairs. “Gentlemen, and those dressed as ladies,” he paused for the laughter to subside. “We have seen many bright and wondrous things this year. Let us take a moment to think of those we left behind, and those in misfortune. Let us pray for our Queen, and for prosperity. Let us forge ahead with good in our hearts, and with minds clear. May the new year bring good tidings.”  
  
Drinks were quickly refilled as he spoke and Crozier held up his watch. “Ten,” he started, joined in by the men.  
  
As they counted to two, Crozier caught Jopson's eye and they nodded to each other, Jopson raising his mug.  
  
Crozier's voice was warm and full of passion. “A very happy eighteen hundred and forty two to us all.”  
  
A cacophony started and didn't die down until the small hours. Men had drifted off to sit in small groups, or to bed. Some passed around sketches of the night's fun, some faithful to fact, others lewd flights of fiction drawing snorts of laughter.

***

In the wee small hours of confusing eternal daylight, Crozier had retired to his cabin, Jopson by his side to slowly undress him, a task complicated by Jopson's tipsiness and constant kisses. Each undone button was accompanied by a soft nuzzle against Crozier's neck, driving him into a slowly growing state of desire. Jopson hummed an imperfectly remembered melody and he wrapped his arms around Crozier, cradling him from behind, mouth and tongue working at his neck in between murmured hums. Crozer clung on for dear life and let himself relax into Jopson's arms, eyes closed and mind full of rhapsody. He could feel the stirring in Jopson's trousers as he leaned back into him, the steward adjusting his stance so his erection slotted into the cleft of Crozier's buttocks as he rubbed against the captain's undershirt and drawers. Crozier draped one arm back to grope Jopson's thigh and arse, feeling the slender musculature under his fingers.  
  
Crozier started to shuffle round, wanting to face Jopson, but as Jopson moved a leg back to accommodate him, he toppled back onto the bed, with Crozier falling onto him. Jopson stifled a cackling laugh as he hung onto Crozier, trying to keep him upright, and he shuffled back to sit against the wall so Crozier could sit by him. Jopson slipped an arm around Crozier's waist and supported him, leaning into to keep kissing him.  
  
“Let me do something for you, Thomas,” Crozier whispered, unbuttoning Jopson's trousers and diving in to release his prick, straining against the fabric of his undergarment. He stroked his palm firmly up the length, curling his fingers closed over the head, then back down to track a finger under his balls. Each time, Jopson gave a soft groan, arching his back and raising up on his haunches as he kissed Crozier. Crozier stroked harder, keeping to a slow, steady rhythm, only a little distracted by Jopson starting to nibble at his neck. He felt Jopson's hand sink to his crotch, tugging gently at his own prick, drawing out pleasure for each other.

Crozier felt at peace, ready for sleep as they worked each other into bliss, and he found himself coming, moaning as Jopson kissed his neck, fingers working him until the end. After he came, shuddering into Jopson's hand, he let himself slump back, getting more kisses and Jopson's hand still clasping his warm and slick cock.

After a moment, he roused himself, determined to reward Jopson, and pumped his hand again, tugging a little harder to see his reaction. Jopson's face was in profile, one side partly hidden from the lamplight as he strained his neck back, eyes searching the ceiling, tracking to the soft light diffused from above. His breathing started coming faster and he swung his had back to watch Crozier, letting him see the adoring look in his eyes as he ejaculated into Crozier's hand.

Lips twitching into a smile, Jopson let go of Crozier's prick and slowly licked the come, eyes fixed upon his captain's. Crozier nearly passed out from shock as he stared, and he hungrily moved in for a devouring kiss.


	9. A Leave-taking of Sorts

Crozier lowered the glass and offered it to his steward. “A volcano in the ice and snow. Could you have ever imagined such a sight, Jopson?”  
  
Jopson held up the telescope to his eye, marvelling at the scene. “I thought volcanoes only existed in hot places. It looked like a cloud before, but it isn't, it looks like it's erupting!”  
  
“Want to go gallivanting up that mountain, Jopson?” Crozier asked, gently teasing.  
  
“Absolutely not, sir,” Jopson shot back, grinning as he raised the glass again, “It's magnificent, though.”  
  
“I expect there to be a few good sketches tonight,” Crozier said as Jopson slid the scope down and handed it over. “I'm sorry to drag you away to serve dinner. With Captain Ross and a deck of lieutenants joining us, it'll be a long night for you and your second.”  
  
“It's my job, sir,” Jopson replied, pleasantly. “I've selected some excellent wine to go with the meal, and the dessert should please everyone. I've been saving this one in particular since we left port.”  
  
“I look forward to it,” Crozier said, almost purring as he smiled.  
  
That evening, Jopson checked the Navy-issue pocket watch, it was functional, but also held a simple beauty, and he ran a thumb across the anchor engraved on the back-piece, before tucking it back in his jacket and patting the chain. Cutlery and glassware were all set, and the plates stacked and waiting for the food platter to be carried in.  
  
He knocked and entered Crozier's cabin, ready to lay out his formal uniform. The epaulettes always presented a challenge, and he silently scolded himself on never finding the hole to attach them to. Hands lingering, he smoothed down Crozier's shirt, then the waistcoat, giving the front of it a stroke or two with the clothes brush. Then he helped Crozier shrug into the coat, once again taking longer than necessary to smooth down any creases he found, then sliding the brush down his front and back. Crozier uttered no words or signs of complaint, instead sighing barely audibly every time Jopson touched him. The golden tassels of the epaulettes were smooth to the touch as he slowly slotted them in place, but he wanted to be sure they didn't slip, so he fussed and fidgeted with them a little, placing his hands briefly on Crozier's shoulders.  
  
All too soon, Crozier was ready to receive his dinner guests and Jopson followed him from the cabin, to wait to take the coats as they arrived.  
  
Later, with an armful of coats, Jopson found himself followed into the cabin by Captain Ross and he half-turned as he started to hang them up. “Sir?”  
  
Ross waved the rolled-up chart as he went to the Captain's table. “Don't worry about me, just laying this out for later. You'll like this,” he said as he placed a book at either end to stop it rolling back up.

  
Jopson finished with the coats and stepped over to the table, looking at the spot Ross was tapping. He looked back up with delight. “Sir, that's very thoughtful of you!”  
  
“Wonderful! Now, come on, go and find out when grub's up, I'm famished!” Ross patted him on the back and chivvied him out the cabin, before ducking into the wardroom to join everyone else.  
  
Later, with the main courses done and dusted, Jopson hovered in the corner dishing up the pudding. He watched the steam rise and thought of that volcano outside. As he poured the leftover chocolate sauce over each serve, he decided that this was the only type of volcano he'd ever want to scale. He served Ross and Crozier first, then the lieutenants, taking stock of each glass, ready for a refill when he took the bottle around next.  
  
Crozier slowly ran his spoon around his slice of pudding, gathering up the sauce. Jopson could see the gleam in his eyes as he savoured each morsel, and he found himself smiling. Ross caught his eye and he grinned at Jopson's startled reaction, smiling indulgently as Jopson quickly switched back to his usual neutral expression.  
  
Tea and coffee was taken in Crozier's cabin as they retired to discuss the newly drawn up chart. Ross had his hand covering a section of the map, waiting for Jopson to turn around from the sideboard with the tray.  
  
Casually lifting his hand away, Ross took a coffee, smiling to himself as Crozier examined the map. Crozier's eyebrow shot up as he spotted the name of the cove. “Are you sure about this one, James?”  
  
“Told you he'd like it,” Ross said to Jopson, enjoying Crozier's look of confusion.  
  
“Thank you. I'm flattered, but it's really not necessary to slap my name on bits and pieces,” Crozier was feeling a little flustered, and he shot a glance at Jopson. “Did you two plan this out?”  
  
“Ah, now. I have to take the full blame, I just let Jopson have a sneak peek so he could share in the fun,” Ross said as he gave a dazzling smile to Jopson.  
  
Jopson smiled shyly back at his captain, getting a genuine smile in return, as Crozier lifted his tea cup in salute.

***

Standing astern the deck with a chill in the air, Jopson breathed into his hands, warming them where the coarse wool gloves cut off at the knuckles. He gazed up at the sky, marvelling at the dazzlingly bright full moon, set inside a thin, silvery ring of ice. “It looks for all the world like someone's cut the moon out from paper, and set it up there.” He lifted a hand and measured from forefinger to thumb. “You could fit three moons across inside that giant ring.”  
  
Crozier pulled his overcoat closer to him. “It'll be a cold, cold night. Maybe cold enough to dislodge that moon dog from the sky and send it crashing into the sea.”  
  
Jopson imagined some strange giant creature pulling off a ring from their finger and letting it drop into a bowl of water, sending a giant, circular wall of water surging upwards. He grinned to himself. “All these magnificent sights I've seen, I can't believe my good fortune to witness them.”  
  
“Even on the land, stranded on shore leave, it stays with you. It wriggles inside dreams, hiding behind the fog banks and above lamp-lit streets. I still walk as though a swaying ship is underfoot,” Crozier admitted quietly.  
  
“I remember the first time I saw the Northern Lights, I could scarcely believe my eyes. It was like I was dreaming, seeing the lush, velvet curtains of a theatre lifted high up to the heavens, right before my eyes. And the colour! These lights are every bit as beautiful,” Jopson paused to exhale softly, almost lost for words, eyes gleaming soft and bright. “Green, just like my mother's eyes, green, like the long grass of the heath gently waving in the breeze.” He stopped himself from saying more, glancing down a little embarrassed. “Just listen to me trying to wax poetic, like I think I'm fancy like Lord Byron.”

Crozier patted Jopson's shoulder, a warm smile starting to form. “Those were fine words, Mister Jopson, so many men would be stunned into silence at the sight, mouths gaping like landed fish.”  
  
“Back home, people ask me what it's like, and I try to explain, but I can see from their reactions that my words seem to be riddles and impossible mazes,” Jopson glanced over at Crozier with a wry expression. “I might as well be flapping my lips like a fish, sometimes.”  
  
“Don't worry, there's plenty who know and understand the beauty and mystery out here,” Crozier's voice was a gentle murmur by now, his eyes watching the sky as though he were gazing into the eyes of a lover.  
  
They stood close together in companionable silence, sharing body heat in the crisp air. Eventually a bell sounded the hour and Jopson roused himself from his silent musings. “Dinner should be about ready by now. It's freshly caught fish tonight. I should see about setting the table, sir.”  
  
“Tarry a little while longer, Jopson. I'm sure the cook wants to beat and batter the poor fish a little more,” Crozier replied dryly as he patted Jopson's arm.  
  
Jopson found himself smiling despite the cold, and stayed by his captain's side. “Very good, sir.”

***

The weeks slid by, melting away like ice in spring, to find Jopson huddled under his small desk, wedged in the corner, his feet bracing himself against the bed drawers. He drew an arm over his head to protect himself and tried to breathe while the ship lurched from side to side, then up and down. He could hear the pounding rain and wind lash the other side of the hull, and the crack of thunder, long and booming. 

When he'd gone to bed, he could hear the first thunderclaps in the distance, and counted out silently. As he drifted to sleep, the thunder came louder and more frequent, and he dreamt of a storm in a field of swaying grass, of him running to safety, counting after each flash of lightning, waiting for the sound of thunder. As the storm neared, the thunderclaps came quicker and quicker, even before he could count to three. He dreamt he saw a flash and felt his body lunge and fly, then woke half-fallen out of his bed, the sounds of the storm in his dream subsumed into the real one he woke into.

He'd lain back in bed, pressing himself against the wall, only to be almost thrown back out as the ship rolled. Trying to stave off his fear, he'd staggered over and put his greatcoat and boots on, then hunkered down under the desk.

There he sat, listening to the unearthly screeching of the wind, and started to pray for the crew, thinking of the astonishing bravery of the men above, wrestling the wheel to keep course, keeping the rigging steady, saving them all from the depths below. This was far worse than the time The Racer had sailed smack into a half-depleted hurricane a few years back. Jopson thought of Drake's voyage through these very straights, and all the ships that followed through the centuries, most successful, but others going to their watery graves. It had been a rousing story when he'd read the volumes on Crozier's shelf, but now he felt the weight of the words turning into reality.

Jopson heard Crozier's shouts above, and he swallowed back a sob, clenched his hands again and prayed to keep his Captain safe.

Jopson didn't remember falling asleep, but he woke to the sound of footsteps in the alley outside and climbed out from his hiding place. The sea was still rough, but it was bearable now, there seemed to be a rhythm to it, unlike the wild ride of just a few hours ago. He slid open his door and his heart leapt as he saw Crozier approach.

“Sir!” Jopson tried to keep his voice as calm as Crozier's manner. “Can I bring you anything?”

Crozier stopped and placed a hand on his shoulder, and he spoke quietly, tired, but placid. “Jopson, it's ungodly o'clock. Go back to sleep.”

Jopson searched Crozier's face. “Is everything well, above?”

“It was tough for a while, there,” Crozier admitted, nodding. “But we're out the worst of it. We even got a fish breakfast for all our trouble. Huge bloody thing landed right on deck. It might be a whale of some sort.”

Jopson laughed in relief. “Better give it to the cook before our intrepid Mr. Lyall gets a hold of it!”

They stood together for a moment, sharing a smile, before Crozier gave Jopson's shoulder a small rub. “Sleep now. You look absolutely drained.”

***

As the weeks drew on, the stars started to realign themselves back to their familiar patterns. They were leaving the breathtaking beauty of the forested mountains behind them as they sailed out of Rio, the open sea bringing a strange sense of melancholy over Jopson. The end of their voyage was near and he'd felt Crozier grow quieter and more distant every day.  
  
No doubt, Crozier would get his full captaincy now, and after a spell joining Ross doing the rounds of scientific groups and society functions, he'd return to the sea. Jopson thought of his future, both at home, and in the service, his heart drawn in two different directions. Bells rang for the next watch, and Jopson roused himself, for there was still plenty of work to do.


	10. Then, and Now

Men lined the decks, leaning over the sides as the shoal kept pace with the ships, leaping high over the waves and plunging below the water. As the ships changed course, a few fish hit the sides, followed by one or two landing on deck, flapping about in confusion. The men roared with laughter as more flew onto the ships, some landing right into a crewman's hands.  
  
“Diggle, get up here, and bring your fry pan!” Crozier bellowed down the hatch, drawing a cheer from the men.  
  
The cook emerged, ready to give everyone hell for being the butt of a joke, only to laugh heartily at the sight. He called out to a mate below, “Wally, fetch a basket,” and joined everyone on deck.  
  
Busy trying to get a sketch of the shoal done, Jopson reeled back as a fish landed in his arms, the pencil and book clattering to the deck. He stood there trying to decide what to do, then eventually threw it back overboard.  
  
“It was a bit too small, sir. Thought I'd give it a second chance, let it go to let it grow,” he said as Crozier gave him a quizzical look.  
  
Crozier looked thoughtful for a moment, before nodding wisely in silent agreement. There was already enough landed fish to make a good dinner, so a little mercy here and there could be made.  
  
Jopson turned his gaze from his captain to watch a gull soar through the air, gracefully arcing up, then down to dive into the ocean...

**||**

Jopson looked back at the tents huddled together, knowing their occupants would wake no more, their suffering ended. The tins in the rucksack poked against his back as he shifted around. He knew he was damned if he ate from them, and damned if he didn't, unless he managed to get another bird. He scanned the early morning sky, free of clouds and birds. There was nothing more to do than follow the trail of the others.  
  
Sheer bloody-mindedness drove him on, all he wanted was to find his Captain, even if he had to crawl to the next camp site. He had no map and no compass, just the memory of the crew's retreating form burned into his mind. His fob-watch, once used to gauge how long until meal times, now counted the hours until sunset, until the cold of night. Trading a lighter load for speed, Jopson gambled on reaching safety before he'd have to spend the night huddled in a blanket on the rocks. The spectre of the creature lurked in the back of his mind as he walked, idly fantasising of bashing it off with the rucksack.  
  
Breathing heavily, he crested a hill and suddenly sank to his knees, eyes clouding with tears, scarcely able to believe what he saw. Head dropped low, eyes closed and muttering to himself, Jopson repeated in a whisper, “I know this is real, I know this is real.” As he spoke, he thought he heard rocks crunching underfoot and started to sob, inhaling sharply when he felt something on his forehead.  
  
“Thomas, dear God, Thomas,” Crozier said, voice broken with tears, as he leant in towards Jopson, their foreheads touching as he enveloped his lieutenant in a hug.


End file.
